


The Truth About Agape

by kastuuki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Journalists, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anxiety, Comic Book Violence, Crime Fighting, Guns, M/M, Major Character Injury, References to Depression, Secret Identity, Temporary Character Death, Unethical Experimentation, it's mostly just secret identity angst and a lot of pining, manipulative parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-03 15:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21181418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kastuuki/pseuds/kastuuki
Summary: “I never thought I would be Lois Lane,” Victor says with an amused smile, looking at the picture in the newspaper. The superhero is carrying him in the most cliché way they could ever find themselves in: a bridal carry. It has become an iconic photo and the city just ran with it. Everyone loves a good love story, even if it’s not entirely true.Yuuri laughs, somewhat awkwardly. Victor's gaze snaps to Yuuri’s face, regretting his words. “You don’t believe that, do you? We—there’s nothing between us.”Yuuri’s face twists into a complicate grimace as he picks up the newspaper from the stand. “You don’t have to explain,” he says but he has a wistful look on his face.(aka thesuperhero AUwith lots of pining and secrets.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this a week ago but I just HAD to edit some more kdflaklk
> 
> ANYWAYS. Hi folks!! This fic is part of the Viktuuri Angst Bang 2019! I was partnered with the amazing and talented [Diem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyasJames), whose art will be added very soon!! They were lovely to work with and really supportive so make sure to give them some love for their hard work. 
> 
> This fic will be updated every weekend. I'll have additional warnings in my author's notes so keep an eye out for that, but anything major is in the tags. Also, hover over foreign language text for translations!! 
> 
> **additional tw** there's a car accident where victor and yuri almost get hit in this chapter.

**i.**

_ He's been chasing an answer_

_A sign lost in the abyss, this Metropolis_

Victor clicks the pen twice.

He scratches the line he just wrote.

_ <strike>Fate will always find a way to surprise you. </strike> _

Is that too heavy for a fluff piece? No, it’s definitely too heavy for a piece about a married couple with triplets who inherited an almost-bankrupted ice rink.

_You never know how life might surprise you. _

That sounds… happier. Maybe. 

He can write about surprises, though. For example, last year he was writing about the corruption in the city’s government and its favoring of the companies that provided the city with technology by turning a blind eye to their illegal practices. Today, he’s taking notes about a child’s toe loop.

Victor sighed. He used to love surprises.

“Lutz still doesn’t have her toe loop down yet, but she’s so determined, don’t you think?” The co-owner, Yuko, says with a big proud smile.

Victor looks at the girl trying her hardest to get the entry right compared to her sisters who seem to do it almost effortlessly. He makes a note to write about her girth and amazing step sequences. “She is. The stubborn ones are the ones who go far,” he offers with a placating smile. The woman seems pleased with his answer.

Yakov says that this is not a punishment, but Victor personally thinks he’s getting a few kicks out of sending him to cover fluff stories. Maybe he wants him to quit, after all, he went behind his back last year to investigate that article. 

"When the _History Maker_ said they’d cover this story I thought—I never imagined they’d actually send _you_.”

Victor stops his notes and presses his lips together. _Ah, there it is_. He waits for the backhanded compliment or the barely disguised rude remark, but the woman continues in a happy tone: “I mean… a Pulitzer winner? I don’t know what we did to deserve it, but Takeshi and I are really grateful that you took this article.”

Victor’s taken aback by her words. She just sounds so happy to have Victor writing their story, which she shouldn’t because anything written under Victor’s name will be put under public scrutiny.

Yet, she’s _genuinely_ happy about it.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he says, partly because he didn’t take the article as so much as it was pushed into his hands and partly because he feels bad for not wanting to take it in the first place.

Half an hour later, after they finish the interview, she walks him outside and tells him about a friend of hers that would’ve loved to meet him but couldn’t make it on time. Victor jokingly asks if he’s cute. Yuko’s eyes shine with mirth and she giggles behind her hand. _Oh_? “Let’s say he’d like it if _you_ thought he was cute.”

Victor chuckles. “Too bad he wasn’t here today then.”

“Victor! The _fuck_ is taking you so long? Unlike you, I have responsibilities,” Yuri yells from a few feet away, leaning all of his weight in the HM’s issued car. Victor would’ve brought his own, but people tend to take him less seriously if they see him coming out of a bright pink convertible.

“I was _working_. And playing videogames all night while pretending to do homework it’s not a responsibility,” Victor answers back, slipping into what Yakov calls his ‘annoyed older brother’ tone. He coughs and looks meaningfully at Yuko. “I’m sorry. Younglings these days,” Victor offers, trying for his charming smile.

Yuko smiles kindly at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be dealing with my own teenagers in a few years. At least, now I know to check if they’re really doing homework,” she says this last part, winking in Yuri’s direction.

Yuri, at least, has the decency to look away with a small huff and shot daggers in Victor’s direction instead.

“Well, this has been lovely. I wish you the best with the ice rink,” he says, offering his hand for Yuko.

She’s about to take it when time seems to slow down. Many things happen in less than ten seconds.

One. Tires screech in their direction. Victor startles and looks around.

Two. Pure fear sets deep into his gut when he realizes a taxi swerved too fast and it’s coming in their direction. In his car’s direction.

Three. His feet push him forward before he even knows what he’s doing.

Four. He pushes Yura out of the way. In his panic, he has enough clarity to realize there wasn’t enough time for him to push him. It’s too _late_.

Yet, Victor still tries, hoping that is enough, at least for Yura. It has to be enough.

Five. The car lights blind him and he knows this is it. He closes his eyes, bracing for impact.

His last thought is wondering who’s going to take care of Makka. He didn’t say goodbye. He _can’t_—

Seconds pass. The shock never comes. The pain never comes.

He still has his eyes shut tight—he breathes, once, twice.

He falls to the ground hard, his knees taking the most of the impact.

Victor opens his eyes and, for a second, he thinks he’s truly dead because he sees an angel in front of him.

There’s no other explanation for the blinding halo of blue light surrounding a clearly human-shaped shadow. He’s inside… a cocoon made of light, at least, that’s what it looks like to him. There are tiny specks of light, shimmering like diamonds, and falling into his skin like glitter. He idly thinks that he should be afraid but he feels safe instead. 

Victor gasps in surprise as a pair of dark eyes meet him and although he cannot see the face of this man under his hoodie, he can see his outline, he sees both something otherworldly and something familiar. He tries to get up and the stranger gasps. That’s when the blue light surrounding him recedes in a flash so bright that blinds him for a few seconds.

When he regains his vision, the stranger isn’t there anymore.

Victor blinks.

The world comes to him in fragments at the time. People are moving around him, the colors seem all wrong and everything's too fast. It isn't until Yuri is shaking him and yelling on his face that the ringing on his ears stops and everything comes back into sharp focus.

There’s too much noise at once. The driver is asking them if they’re okay with shaking hands and a pale face, Yuko is talking to a 911 operator or that’s what he supposes given the way she’s stumbling to describe the accident. Victor catches phrases like ‘blue light’ and ‘I couldn’t see his face’. Yuri’s screaming at him that he’s a fucking dumbass, risking his life like that, that he could’ve died, and what would’ve happened to the mutt, that Yakov would’ve been devastated, the old man wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Maybe it’s the way that he can see the barely contained tears on Yuri’s eyes, but Victor extends an arm towards him, drawing him close. Yuri only hesitates a second before hugging him, clinging to him like he hasn’t in years when Victor was his cool sort-of-brother who protected him from the monsters under his bed.

His heart breaks when he realizes that he had been seconds away from losing him.

His life’s been in danger one too many times that his own potential death barely registers in his brain, but nothing has scared him as much as Yuri standing right in that taxi’s path.

Victor doesn’t know what saved them but he’s grateful for it all the same.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. An ambulance and the police arrive within minutes. They wrap Yuri and Victor in cotton blankets while a paramedic takes their vitals. The officer asks for their recount of events.

Yuri insists he didn’t see anything because of the annoyingly bright light. Victor checks his hands, remembering the specks falling into his skin. There’s nothing there. He hears a few witnesses say that they saw a shadow run towards both of them, some sort of shield appeared out of thin air in front of Victor, and that’s where the car crashed.

The car, from Victor’s point of view, has a circular indentation in the driver’s door.

The officer says the car was going at 35mph. He doesn’t have to do the math to know he’d have died. 

He should’ve died.

Something saved him.

Was it an angel? Did an angel save him?

Some part of his brain tries to remind him that these sort of things don't happen. Some other part tells him that he hasn't done anything to deserve to be saved by an actual angel. He doesn’t even know if he believes in angels and _yet_—

Yuko brings them both a cup of warm tea as they wait for the police to finish. Victor finds himself fielding phone calls from every other person he knows, which it’s not that much of a surprise. He only knows journalists and reporters. He wonders how many of them are just hoping for a scoop.

He frowns when Chris tells him he saw the video.

Victor pulls up Twitter and finds that there is indeed a video lasting about twenty seconds. It starts halfway through the ordeal, there’s the shield of blue light that Victor remembers, right in between the taxi and Victor’s car, and it stays there about five seconds into the video before it disappears with a flash. The rest of it is dedicated to showing the aftermath, where Victor is on the ground in some sort of shock and the driver stumbles out of his car, disoriented.

Minutes later, they’re ushered into the back of a police car so they can give their official statements.

Victor rewinds the video about ten times, trying to catch even the smallest glimpse of the man who saved him, before giving up and closing the app.

He catches Yuri looking at him. “_Are you alright?_” Victor asks in Russian, because he’s not scowling as usual, and Victor would even dare to say there’s something contemplative about his expression.

Yuri opens his mouth, before glancing at the officers in the front. Victor sees the moment that he changes gears. “I told Yakov to pick us up at the station,” he says in English instead.

Victor wants to ask what was that about, but the wary look in Yuri's eyes is enough to force him to find some self-restraint. 

Once in the station, Victor and Yuri recount the events in separate desks. Victor’s fighting the urge to get them out of there, feeling like he was led into the lion’s den when he wasn’t looking. He glances at Yuri, who seems to be engaged in a staring contest with his officer. His own officer, Crispino, has kind purple eyes and a soft smile, but Victor knows better than to get too comfortable.

Victor recounts the events as best as he can, from the moment he left Ice Castle to the part where the man seemed to disappear in a flash of light.

His suspicions are confirmed when the officer asks him if he was on some sort of drugs at the moment of the accident.

His smile turns brittle. “I was working,” he says. “I was the one driving us home.”

The woman stares at him patiently, as if that means nothing to her.

“No, I’m not on drugs,” he answers through gritted teeth, feeling his patience shorten.

The woman hums, tapping a pen impatiently on her desk. "I just had to make sure. After all, your story—” she cocks her head, the movement telling everything Victor needs to know, “—sounds like something out of fiction.”

“Everyone saw him, not just me,” Victor says, crossing his arms over his chest and reclining on his chair away from her.

“Not _him_, they saw something. You’re the only one who saw a ‘him’.”

“There’s a video. How do you explain that?”

“A video where there’s no evidence of another man.”

That’s when it clicks. _Another man_.

Victor scoffs. “Officer, are you accusing me of something?”

Officer Crispino smiles at him innocently, and Victor almost chuckles. He invented that smile. “I’m just saying that your life was in danger, and out of nowhere, this mysterious _man_ comes to save the day. Isn’t that just so convenient?”

Victor laces his hands in his lap, cocking his head to convey curiosity. “I suppose I’m just that lucky,” he answers, ironically. “What do you think happened then?”

“What I think it’s not relevant,” Officer Crispino says in the same happy tone and it’s starting to grate on Victor’s nerves. “After all, I like to have all my facts before accusing people of something, Mr. Nikiforov. Don’t you think so?” 

He shakes his head, letting out a mirthless laugh, although something heavy settles at the bottom of his stomach. A combination of anger with a pang of guilt. “I should’ve known that you’d try to discredit me.”

The officer seems only a bit taken aback by Victor’s words. “We wouldn’t do that,” she clicks her tongue, “unless you’re not telling us the whole story?” 

The implication is clear and Victor’s had enough. “That’s it. Yuri, we’re leaving,” he says harshly, scraping the chair as he stands up.

“Mr. Nikiforov, the interview isn’t over,” she says in a commanding voice that’d have him retracing his steps any other day, but he’s tired, he’s sweaty, and he almost _died_. He wants to go home and hug Makka, get a bath, and sleep for ten years, in that order.

“I already told you everything and I’m not staying for you to twist my words. _Yuri_,” he snaps when he sees that Yuri isn’t moving. He turns just in time to see the other officer giving Yuri a card with his name. The officer just nods at him and Victor twists his mouth in disapproval, he exits the room without another word.

The echoes of Victor’s long strides and Yuri’s light steps are the only noises in the hallway.

Victor almost collapses in relief when he sees Yakov waiting for them outside the police headquarters. He feels a lump on his throat as he sees the same relief in Yakov’s face when he spots them behind the glass doors of the building. Yuri runs towards him and hugs him without saying anything.

It’s moments like these that Victor remembers that Yuri is barely an adult. Victor feels a wave of guilt when he remembers that Yuri almost died today for hanging out with him.

Yakov looks at him, probably waiting to see what Victor’s first reaction will be. At this point, Victor’s sure nothing will surprise him anymore. Victor hugs him then.

Inside Yakov’s car, the mixture between old leather and pine air freshener settles Victor’s nerves, remembering him of a time when he used to ride in this car, knowing that he’d always be safe there.

“_Do you, er, want to talk about… it?_” Yakov asks in Russian, the awkwardness in his tone is not lost on Victor.

He smiles a little. “_Not particularly_,” Victor gives Yakov a sideways look. "_You saw the video, yes?_”

Yakov nods with a somber expression. Victor sighs, dropping his head in the window. It's cold against his temple, which does wonders for the slight throbbing in his head. “_There’s not much to talk about. What you saw is what I saw,_” Victor says, even knowing that it’s not exactly true but too tired to explain in detail.

His mind keeps bouncing back between the accident and the implication from Officer Crispino. “I’m more worried about what people will say,” Victor says, switching to English.

When Yakov stops in Victor’s apartment building, he turns to look at Victor with a twist on his mouth. “Only you could almost die and find time to worry about what people will think about it,” Victor opens his mouth to protest, but Yakov shakes his head, lifting a hand to stop him. “Call Lilia tomorrow. She called _me_ to ask about you two.” 

Victor cringes because he had been steadily ignoring his phone ever since he saw the video on Twitter.

“Call if you need something,” Yakov harrumphs, watching Victor with a stern expression. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“It’s not like that,” Victor replies but Yakov just frowns in his direction. “I’ll be okay. Take care of Yura.”

It’s a testament of how fucking weird their day has been that Yuri barely groans at Victor’s words.

He exits Yakov’s car with the promise of taking the day off tomorrow if he needs to, which might as well translate into ‘I better not see you at work or I’ll fire you’. It’s only once he’s inside his apartment and Makkachin launches herself to greet him that Victor allows himself to cry, the stress of the last hours washing over him like a waterfall.

He’s okay. He’s _okay_. He’s alive and Yura is too.

“I’m here, Makka. Sorry for almost leaving you,” he says, soothingly. Makka knows something is wrong because she’s licking his face and yipping at him, so Victor buries his face in her fur.

Victor doesn’t know how long he stays there, but at some point, he does drag himself to bed, barely bothering to change clothes before he’s faceplanting into his comforter. His eyelids feel heavy and he knows he’ll be blissfully sleep in seconds.

Soft blue light is the last thing he remembers before sleep overtakes him. 

* * *

Victor arrives at the _History Maker _building an hour earlier than he has to. He uses this time to start his article about the ice rink and by the time the rest of the staff arrives, Victor’s reading yet another article about the mysterious man from last night. Nobody claims to have seen anything else than a shadow, but Victor knows what he saw, despite what the cops said.

“I thought Yakov would give you the day off,” a familiar voice says from the cubicle next to his. 

"He did," Victor answers, closing the tab just in time to see Chris standing in the entrance of Victor's cubicle. “You’d be too lonely without me, though.”

Chris chuckles. “Yes, let’s blame Chris for your workaholic tendencies.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, nobody would blame you if you went home. What happened yesterday is—”

“—nothing new.” Victor finishes, reclining on his chair. “It’s not the first time I’m in danger, I just never imagined it would while I was reporting on ice skating.”

Chris clicks his tongue. “I’m glad you’re so accustomed to almost dying. I’m sorry we haven’t gotten that _comfortable_ with it yet,” he says, his tone sharp in a way that sounds strange coming from Chris who is the walking definition of unbothered, “and really nothing can shake you? I saw Twitter, you know. I saw the car, the light—whatever it was.”

Victor’s mantra is everything’s fine. It never _really_ is, but if he admits it though, it’d feel like admitting defeat. He doesn’t mention that he jumped from his seat when Mila threw a stack of books into the Education table or that the beeping from the coffee machine startled him. Instead, what he says is “Twitter doesn’t mention that there was someone else.”

Chris looks at him surprised, taking the bait. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing and we’re gonna revisit this conversation later… but what do you mean you saw _someone_? You mean, outside or…”

Victor peers over the top of his cubicle, making sure nobody else is eavesdropping their conversation. “He was there inside with me.” He leans in and Chris does the same with a disbelieving expression. “Chris… I think he was the one to put that… shield to protect me.”

Chris sucks in air like he wants to say something, but he stops himself before the words leave his mouth. He knits his eyebrows together, searching for something in Victor’s face. “You know how that sounds, right?”

Victor groans and falls back into his chair. “I know, okay? The police made it perfectly clear last night.”

“Well, they’re not your biggest fans right now,” Chris says, sitting on top of Victor’s workstation. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that—a man came out of nowhere and saved you at the last minute? You must be the luckiest bitch on earth.”

Victor laughs. “I don’t know about the lucky part,” he comments, dryly. “Everything else I can explain, except for that part.” He swallows, thinking of those eyes looking back at him with fear on them. Victor could chalk it up to a weird dream or maybe push it back into the back of his mind with all the things he's steadily ignoring (God knows there's always space for more things), but he can't forget those eyes—he knows there's someone out there who saved his life.

He doesn’t know how that makes him feel but, for once, he doesn’t want to ignore it.

Chris hums, tapping his chin in thought. Victor feels the corner of his lips twitch into a smile because he was sure Chris didn’t have that habit before meeting him.

“We can look into it. I know the guy who wrote the online article about it for our paper. He might know something.” Chris winks in his direction before standing up. “We’ll find what happened.”

Victor nods and smiles, feeling grateful to have Chris as his friend. “Thanks, Chris.”

Chris makes a gesture conveying that it’s not necessary and tells him they figure out this after making sure Yakov won’t come for their heads for not delivering their articles on time. 

* * *

As it turns out, Chris’ friend—and by the way Chris is looking at his ‘friend’, Victor no longer thinks Chris is doing this entirely out of the goodness of his heart—is a local news reporter that covered last night incident with a whopping four-paragraph article along with the infamous video on Twitter.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Victor asks, disbelieving. “There were over 10 eyewitnesses last night. Nobody saw anything—like let’s say, a man leaving the scene?”

Chris’ friend presses his lip and shakes his head. “If they did, nobody’s saying anything. Maybe they’re scared of sounding crazy.”

Victor arches an eyebrow in his direction and the man lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, it’s not that I don’t believe you. At this point, I’d believe pretty much anything regarding this whole incident.”

Victor huffs in disappointment, but thanks Chris’ friend (“_I told you his name is Masumi like four times, Victor_”) anyways and at the end of the day, he isn’t any closer to find his mystery man than he was yesterday night. He leaves after Yakov yells at him for being there in the first place, but being who he is, Victor’s unable to ignore a story when he feels it’s right there under his nose.

(It has nothing to do with trying to prove Officer Crispino wrong.)

So! He goes back to Twitter and Instagram, and tracks down, with varying levels of success, the people who posted about the accident and makes a list of those who he could interview with the excuse of trying to put together a story.

“I just want to know this man. Thank him for what he did for _us_,” he says to Yuri one afternoon, after picking him up from Lilia’s house.

“_That’s fucking stupid,_” Yuri says in Russian. “If I were that guy, I would want to be left alone.”

Victor presses his lips together when his mom repeats those same words when he mentions it to her. “Vitya, this man of yours hasn’t shown himself again since that night. I don’t think he wants to be found.”

Victor can’t let it go. He wonders why this man decided to save them and exclusively them. Why not use his powers—if that’s what they are?—for something good?

Almost two weeks after the accident, Victor begins to wonder if he made the whole thing up and is considering dropping it altogether when something happens. 

**@cindymoon** so nobody is gonna believe me but since i'm at the ER with JUST a scratch on my elbow after falling from a two-story building (i might've been a bit drunk)... remember that video with the weird lights from weeks ago? well... it's about to get weirder (1/5)

* * *

“Let me run the story,” Victor says, putting a file on Yakov’s desk.

Yakov looks at him unimpressed, sighing slowly before picking up the file with disinterest. “How many times this week? Twelve times?” He hums, turning a page. “Good thing it’s Friday, Vitya.”

Victor shrugs, unapologetically. “He’s out there Yakov. Those are all witnesses accounts of people he’s saved.”

Yakov gives a long weary sigh, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I don’t doubt there’s some lunatic in tights running around the city playing hero but we’re a serious newspaper, despite the immature bunch of reporters that work here.”

Victor chuckles. “He’s not just some lunatic in tights—if you actually _read_ my report that I color-coded, by the way, you’d see that he has powers.”

“Even if he flew through the city leaving rainbows behind him we still wouldn’t publish it because we are a _serious_ newspaper! What part of that you don’t understand?” Yakov says, gritting his teeth. Victor has told him that he’s going to need a denture if he keeps that up.

“According to Moroka, he shoots light from his hands," Victor says but Yakov scoffs at the mention of the reporter. Victor frowns but doesn’t let up, “also, he’s been catching criminals, Yakov. He’s selflessly risking his life without any kind of credit.”

“Maybe he wants it that way. I believe you’re more obsessed with wanting to know _who_ he is rather than the altruistic bullcrap of wanting to give him the credit he deserves.” Yakov closes the file in a finite manner and hands it back as if he hadn't metaphorically slapped Victor with the truth to his face. "I always thought you should've kept doing that ice skating thing, at least you'll have a hobby that is not your work.”

Victor looks at the file as it had personally offended him. “I have hobbies,” he says, for the lack of a better reply. 

“Name one.”

Victor opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He must—of course, he has _hobbies_, it’s just that nothing comes to mind right now. “I watch TV. Sometimes.”

Yakov snorts. “Your reality shows aren’t real hobbies.”

“It’s not—they’re ground-breaking shows,” he says, crossing his arms. Where else would you find 11 drag queens on television?

Yakov hums, not convinced at all. That’s when someone knocks—albeit doubtfully—on the open door, Victor spares the man a glance and a polite smile before turning to Yakov.

“The answer is still no. Come back when this guy of yours robs a bank.” Yakov looks at a point behind Victor and nods. Victor huffs in response but doesn't try again. He picks up the file from the mahogany desk and leaves Yakov’s office without a second glance. 

He hears something about a recent wave of crime around the neighborhood as he leaves. Victor thinks of eavesdropping for a second, but Chris and Georgi are waiting for him outside the office.

“I guess you heard that, didn’t you?” Victor says, sighing in resignation. 

“Ground-breaking shows? C’mon, we know why you see Rupaul’s Drag Race and it isn’t for its quality television,” Chris says, snickering at the end of the sentence.

Victor doesn’t dignify that with an answer. A) The queens _are_ talented, and B), so what if he likes it for the eye-candy?

“It is ground-breaking! They always give it all for their performance! Their fight for stardom and acceptance is awe-inspiring. It’s _art_.” Georgi says with dramatic vehemence, and Victor is puzzled because way more into the show than Victor and he is the gay one.

Although, knowing Georgi, the show is right up his alley. Chris and Victor share a look and a fond smile for his friend, probably thinking the same thing.

“Anyway, what did Yakov say about tall, dark and handsome?” Chris asks, putting an arm around Victor and leading him towards the stairs.

Victor snorts. “He’s not letting me run the story. We’re a _serious_ newspaper,” he says, feeling the tips of his ears warm a little by Chris’ implication.

Chris doesn't look surprised by the turns of events. "You know what you need?" He asks but doesn't let him answer. "You need a distraction. We're going drinking tonight! Georgi, where’s Mila?”

At five o’clock sharp, half of the local and international news staff plus some other people that he has never interacted with, are joining them for drinks. “Was _that_ really necessary?" He asks Mila.

She shrugs, not sorry at all. “The more the merrier. Don’t complain! You need to interact more with people,” Mila says, playfully scolding him.

Victor sighs, slumping his shoulders. “C’mon, you used to love getting drinks with us.” Mila smiles, but the look she’s giving him is a worried one, so he does his best to put on a smile on his face. Although, these days it’s starting to feel strained.

“I’m just too old for late nights, Mila,” he says and it’s _not_ a lie. Just not the main reason. Mila smiles and seems to believe him, though.

A tanned man with black hair and annoyingly white teeth joins by his side, startling him in the process, and starts talking to him about the next season of NFL. Victor turns around for Mila to find out she’s gone. The group starts to leave and the guy, Jack-Jack or something, is still talking despite Victor’s lack of contribution to the conversation.

He’s thinking of how to fake sudden illness when the man stops by someone else’s cubicle.

“Man, we’re all going for drinks. What are you still doing here?”

Victor can’t see who’s inside the cubicle, just the top of someone’s head with black hair. “I don’t actually drink.” The answer is soft-spoken but Victor can guess it’s a man talking. “Besides, I have to—submit my article before leaving.”

Jack-Jack shrugs. “I’m just saying. If you wanna go we’re gonna be at the Aria.”

Victor steps forward before he's even conscious about it, ready to convince the man to go with them just so he doesn’t have to deal with Jack-Jack alone… but Chris arrives, telling him to not even think about escaping because they have a very important mission tonight: Getting Victor Laid.

He forgets all about the man in the cubicle in order to glare at Chris and tell him that if he’s _so_ invested, maybe he should take matters into his own hands.

“You never put your money where your mouth is,” Chris replies, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. Victor huffs a laugh. “Besides, it’s not you who I want to take home tonight, _mon chéri_.”

Chris looks over Victor’s shoulder and Victor doesn’t need superpowers to know that Chris is looking at Masumi.

When they arrive at the bar, the drinks start to travel and, soon enough, there’s a dart tournament with people betting articles and stories. His fingers ache to be able to participate but he knows Yakov would veto any story that is not a filler. He stands next to the bar with Mila, Emil, and two interns that Victor is sure he should know their names by now but he’s always been forgetful, so he just smiles politely and hopes that it doesn’t come up in conversation.

The bartender hands them their drinks—two vodkas and two ginger ales. Victor feels _old_.

The drink in his hand relaxes him enough to forget about his work problems and he even enjoys when _Leo_, one of the interns, talks animatedly about his favorite hip-hop artist. Mila moves the conversation to movies when _Guang-Hong_ mentions liking superhero movies.

Victor ponders that. A _superhero_. Why hadn’t he thought about that before?

“Have you heard about the superhero in Metropolis?” Guang-Hong asks, all wide-eyed and starstruck. Victor and Mila share a look, and Victor takes another sip from his drink. That’s when he hears it.

“_I’m not convinced_,” a man says behind him, talking to someone else. “_You know how that guy Nikiforov was involved in the first incident, his father is the only one who can create that kind of technology._”

Victor gulps down the rest of his drink, but the pleasant buzz doesn’t return. He tries to focus on the conversation at hand but the words keep floating in. “—_I bet he’s behind this._” “_Maybe he was jealous of his father—_” “_It’s all so shady, man. Their whole family is shady._”

Victor stands up, abruptly.

“Victor?” Mila asks, confused. The interns stare in surprise.

Victor tunes out the people behind him and cocks his head with a friendly smile. “Sorry,” he says, putting his glass over the table. He pulls out his wallet and leaves some money on the table. “I think I’m calling it a night. I have an article that I shouldn’t be writing drunk,” he says airily.

Victor waves his friends’ protests and shakes his head when Chris tries to follow him outside the bar.

The chilly fall air nips at his nose and cheeks and it’s exactly what he needs. It makes his thoughts less hazy and keeps him getting too lost in his head. He’s annoyed that he’s reacting this way over a conversation, but the words sit heavy on his chest.

He’s so tired.

How many times will he have to prove himself? He tried to do the right thing and now nobody in the city trusts him.

_Maybe they’re right_, a voice taunts in the very back of his mind.

He shakes his head, fighting the sinking feeling in his stomach. It was the right thing to do. It _was_.

Victor hears air whooshing softly behind him, but when he turns around there’s nothing there. He shakes his head, thinking he must be imagining things… he hurries his steps, though. Just in case.

The feeling of being watched doesn’t leave him until he reaches his street. He’s almost sprinting at this point, trying to reach his building as soon as possible. He pulls out his keys from his messenger bag with shaking hands, cursing under his breath when he uses the wrong one.

That’s when he sees it.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a streetlamp flickering.

He’s frozen in the spot, watching the light going out and coming back in a way that seems deliberate.

Then it hits him and he lets out a relieved laugh.

Light. Of course.

He sags against the door, the tension leaving him all at once. He puts a hand over his forehead, chuckling to himself. “You were watching me, of course,” he says, wondering if he can hear him.

Victor blinks when the realization hits him, dropping his hand from his forehead and looking up at the sky. “You were making sure I got home safely.” There’s nothing there, no sign of the man, but somehow, he knows this deep in his heart. “Thank you.” He adds, feeling silly that he’s carrying a one-sided conversation but this might be his only chance to say it. 

Victor stays outside for a while longer, finding out that there’s a warm, hopeful feeling settling on his chest. He stares at the darkness some more, imagining that he can see a shadow moving on top of the building in front of him. He smiles at it anyways.

He stays long enough that the lamp flickers again, somehow conveying impatience. Victor laughs, incredibly pleased, and gets inside his building but not without throwing a wink over his shoulder before closing the door.

* * *

“God, it’s so _obviously_ you that the only thing missing is signed by ‘Victor Dumbass Nikiforov’. Yakov’s going to rip you a new one when he finds out,” Yuri says in the form of a greeting.

Victor smiles brightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Plausible deniability first, as always.

“The blog you started. Don’t play dumb,” Yuri says, bristling. “I hate when you do that.”

Victor just keeps his placating smile. “Now, now, I don’t know who’s writing this blog but the city’s hero deserves some recognition finally.”

He hears Chris chuckle from his desk. “There’s only one person in Metropolis that cares enough, though,” he says, contributing to the conversation in the most inopportune way as always. “Yakov is going to kill you.”

“He’s not, because it’s not mine,” he says, keeping up the act because he actually likes having a job. “Besides, the city is starting to notice. It was bound to happen.”

Victor shrugs, drinking from his coffee with the nonchalance of a man who knows he won’t get caught.

“Are you talking about Victor’s blog?” Mila asks, resting her elbows on Victor’s cubicle. “I saw the videos. What this guy does is really cool.”

“More like ‘really freaky shit’,” Yuri adds, putting his feet over Victor’s desk. “Why is everyone so interested in this guy?”

“He's like a real-life superhero,” Mila answers. “Don’t act like you’re not curious. I saw you like that post on Instagram where he’s saving a cat from a tree.”

“Shut up, hag!” Yuri barks with the force of an angry kitten. Nobody is impressed.

“I didn’t know you had a crush, Yuri," Victor teases, because the smart choice is to test his luck twice in the same day obviously.

Yuri’s almost red in the face with anger when he replies. “You fucker, you’re the one with the weird obsession here! You went on for a _whole_ week about how if you saw him on the street you’d know who he is because of his eyes!”

Chris lets out a laugh from his desk and stands up to see past the division between their cubicles, no longer pretending he’s working. “Did you really say that?”

Victor feels his cheek warm-up, but he doesn't let himself be embarrassed about it. "I would recognize those eyes anywhere," Victor says, defensively.

“You really think that?” A new voice asks, coming from the printer. Everyone turns in its direction, and apparently, Cute New Reporter had said it without thinking because he starts to splutter and avoid everyone’s gazes.

“I don’t think I do. I _know_ it,” he says, defiantly, and Cute New Reporter meets his gaze.

Victor’s hit with an undercurrent of excitement when the new reporter’s narrowed brown eyes pin him on the spot. “What would you do if you find him then?” He asks, his voice is soft but Victor knows a challenge when he hears one. He can see the barely-there-smirk behind the guileless eyes.

Victor’s intrigued but he hides it well with a shrug. “Thank him for saving my life,” he hears a snort behind him and jerks his thumb back smoothly as if he hadn't forgotten there were more people in the room, “and his life too, because he wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face.”

Cute New Reporter smiles, reaffirming the nickname that Victor gave him a few weeks ago when he first saw him while Chris helped him to unjam the copy machine, albeit, he had only seen him from behind but His Ass Would Make Grown Men Weep was too long.

He takes a careful step forward, watching the others with some hesitance before joining their impromptu reunion around Victor's desk. "So you wouldn't reveal his identity then?" Cute New Reporter asks, watching him with curiosity in his eyes and Victor notices that everyone else does too after he asks.

“Of course not,” he answers, frowning, slightly put off by the question. “That’d be a dick move.”

Cute New Reporter seems surprised for a second before he splutters. “No, I didn’t mean like that. Sorry!” He says, bowing his head.

“Then why are you so obsessed with finding out who he is?” Yuri asks, kicking the legs of his chair and Victor snaps his gaze from the new reporter’s face.

“Nobody believes me,” he says, putting a hand over his forehead and sighing dramatically. “I mean it when I say I want the city to know about him.” He bites his lip, thinking of the flickering streetlamp. “People in Metropolis deserve to know that there’s someone out there willing to help us, making sure that we’re safe, and more importantly, that he’s not a threat.”

“You don’t know that,” Cute New Reporter argues.

Victor presses his lips together, returning his attention to him. “You don’t think he’s trying to help?”

Cute New Reporter frowns. “I think we don’t know his intentions. It’s better to stay away from him.”

Victor feels a smirk on his lips and he puts a finger over it. “We really don’t know, do we? The more reason to actually try to interview him.” 

Cute New Reporter’s eyes widen and he starts to shake his head.

Mila snorts. “Oh god, you just gave him a reason to go after him.”

Chris looks at him with an arched eyebrow and Victor feels just a bit bad for dismissing the danger so nonchalantly in front of him. 

“He’s not dangerous,” He says, glancing at Chris quickly, “he _did_ save my life. I think that’s enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

That’s the last thing he says before one of the Seven Trumpets of the Apocalypse, otherwise known as Yakov’s voice, booms through the newsroom announcing Victor that he’s screwed.

Everyone scrambles for cover after that and Victor can’t really blame them.

* * *

“I never got your name,” he says, sitting in front of Cute New Reporter at the break room.

Cute New Reporter smiles in a way that's almost secretive and Victor barely restrains himself from asking him what’s so funny. “You survived,” he says instead of an answer.

“It wasn’t easy. I might be scarred for life,” he replies, leaning in with a serious face, “I need a shoulder to lean on in this trying times,” Victor finishes with a wink.

The new guy frowns slightly and looks down, although Victor can see a little blush on his cheeks. “I’m—my name… I’m Yuuri.” He says, stumbling on his words.

“_Yuu_ri,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue, “I’m Victor.” He says, although he knows he’ll be hard-pressed to find a reporter in Metropolis who doesn’t know who he is, he won’t go around assuming everyone does either.

_Yuuri _gives him a surprised look but his smile returns, so Victor will count it as a win. “I knew that.” He says quietly. “I mean, I used to read your articles.”

Victor cocks his head to the side. “You don’t anymore?”

Yuuri splutters again. “No! No, I mean, yes! Of course, I still read them! The last one about a day in the life of Mayor Baranoskaya was—it had a lot of detail, the way you can describe events hasn’t—” he stops when Victor is unable to contain his grin anymore, and he sighs, exasperated, “you’re screwing with me.”

_I’d like to_, Victor thinks but it might be a little too soon for that. “It’s just too easy.”

Yuuri groans, putting a hand over his mouth but his eyes twinkle with interest in Victor’s direction. He shakes his head and picks up his sandwich. “Yakov sounded mad, was it about the blog?”

“The blog that isn’t mine,” he says with pointed amusement, “but yes, Yakov saw it. He told me to keep my name out of it, that if I wanted to make a fool out of myself I should do it in my free time in anonymity.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Yuuri says, frowning slightly.

Victor shrugs. “He’s mostly right, though. The vigilante-slash-superhero is still an urban myth. There are pictures and videos of him, yet nobody in the city wants to acknowledge him in fear of looking like conspiracy theorists.”

“I know he saved you but—maybe he just doesn’t want that kind of publicity. Maybe he just wants to keep saving people without—” Yuuri shrugs, pressing his lips together before continuing, “maybe he just wants to keep doing his thing.”

Victor hums, considering this idea. “That’s the thing. We don’t really know, do we? Why is he doing this?”

“Didn’t you think he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart?” Yuuri asks with a teasing tone, and Victor is momentarily distracted by how much he likes it.

“That’s what I think, _Yuu_ri.” He says, elongating the ‘u’ in Yuuri’s name. He watches fascinated by how a slight blush appears over his cheeks. “You think he’s dangerous. I wanna know what _he_ thinks.”

He sees Yuuri swallow heavily, avoiding Victor’s eyes. Victor wonders if his flirting is making him uncomfortable. He leans back, giving him space and coughs into his fist to clear his voice. “It’s only fair. He should be able to tell his side of the story too.”

Yuuri presses his lips together but nods. “It’s only fair,” He echoes back, and his eyes seem harder now.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Victor asks, watching his face carefully.

Yuuri gasps and shakes his head. “He’s alright, I think… I just think he should be left alone.”

“So, you’re scared of him then?” Victor asks, trying to get a sense of why someone as nice as Yuuri wouldn’t like this real-life superhero.

Yuuri blinks and lets out a sheepish laugh. “I guess. Don’t you think people wouldn’t… accept that there’s someone like… a vigilante or a superhero or whatever out there? Wouldn’t they be scared of him?”

It’s Victor’s turn to blink. He never thought of it that way. “I… don’t know. I never thought of being scared of him.”

Yuuri nods. “That’s because he saved you.”

“But he’s been saving people…” He thinks of Chris’ look early, of Yakov’s insistence to keep his distance from the whole thing. “They’d be scared.”

Yuuri nods again, gravelly.

Victor considers this. Some people like this new superhero, some, like Victor, think he's helping the city. Some others are afraid of what he's capable of, of what he could do if he ever decided to stop helping them.

Victor has a hunch that he’d never do something like that, but how to prove _that_ to the city.

“Oh my god, Yuuri, you’re a genius!” Victor says as he realizes exactly what this superhero needs.

“Am I? W-why?”

Victor stands up, extending both of his arms. “This superhero needs someone on his side, someone who will hold his PR fort while he's out there," Victor explains. He could be that person. "I need to go public about the blog!" 

Yuuri’s eyes widen and he stands up, shaking both hands in the air. “No, that’s a terrible idea! You’re going to get fired!”

Victor opens his mouth to say he couldn’t care less, but Yuuri interrupts him. “If you get fired, nobody is going to take seriously anything you say,” he counters.

Victor bites his lower lip. Okay, that’s a slight dent on his plan. “Fine. I won’t go public,” he sees Yuuri’s shoulder relax. "Not yet anyway," he adds with a wave of his hand. “You did give me an idea, though. Thanks, this has been super productive!”

Victor turns around going for the exit, his brain going a mile per hour with ideas of how to help their friendly neighbor superhero. He stops right at the threshold of the door, looking at Yuuri one last time before leaving. “See you around, _Yuu _ri.” He throws a wink for good measure, only regretting not being able to see Yuuri’s reaction.

* * *

“_Blyad’_, are you trying to kill me?” Victor asks, scrunching up his shirt where his heart is after Yuri knocked on the car’s window and made him jump from his seat.

“Let me in, loser," Yuri says and Victor rolls his eyes, but opens the door of the nondescript van he borrowed from one of Mila's friends anyway. “What are you even doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on you, geezer.”

Yurio rolls his eyes and snatches the binoculars from Victor’s hands.

"Yuri," he sighs, "I'm working, give me back my binoculars," Victor says, snatching them back. "Now _idi v pen_.” He says, forcefully.

“You’re so lame. I can’t believe I hang out with you,” he growls, snatching the binoculars and refusing to budge when Victor’s hand shots up to retrieve them. “What are you even trying to do? Are those Georgi and Mila?”

Victor sighs, giving up on his getting his binoculars back and turning his head to see Georgi trying to do a bad impression of a thief while Mila’s doing her worst impression of a scared civilian, mostly because she cannot stop laughing.

“They really suck at this,” Yuri says that as if he’s just realizing they wouldn’t last a day undercover.

The ‘robbery’ ends and Georgi runs into the other direction, laughing maniacally as if he were a villain from an old children’s cartoon who just tied a girl to the railway tracks. Mila puts her hand over her forehead, yelling that someone just stole her purse where she kept the picture of her dear Babushka who she hasn’t seen in ten years.

Victor groans and puts his head into his hands.

“I’m guessing this whole train wreck was your idea?” Yuri asks and Victor groans again. “All to talk with the stupid superhero you have a crush on?”

“I don’t have a crush on him,” Victor says through gritted teeth.

“Right. You also didn’t have a crush on that French reporter,” Yuri says, flatly.

Victor narrows his eyes at him and snatches his binoculars from his hands. He doesn’t even try to defend himself because everyone and their mother knows he had a crush on Stephane. He pulls out his phone instead, telling his friends that the plan might not be going as expected—

“It’s a fucking failure, you mean,” Yuri says, peering over his shoulder. Victor elbows him back to the passenger seat.

—and that they should be heading back home. Mila and Georgi enter the back of the van, apologizing for not being more convincing and Yuri not so kindly tells them that they suck at acting and they should never try it again. Mila sticks her tongue at him and Yuri flips her off. They start bickering and Victor feels the beginnings of a headache coming.

“What are you going to do then?” Georgi asks when he’s leaving him on his stop.

Victor gives him a bright smile. “Don’t worry. There will be more chances!” He says, cheerily.

"Don't do anything dumb," Mila tells him when she exits at her stop. "I will know, Nikiforov. I have an inside agent.”

Victor glares at Yuri who chooses to acknowledge it with a snort. 

He leaves Yuri at the Metropolis University. He hesitates just before he closes to the door, turning to see Victor with a scowl. “Are you trying to find out this guy’s secret identity?” He asks, glaring at Victor.

Victor presses his lips together. “No, I just want to talk to him. Get an interview of sorts.”

“You’re really going all this trouble for just an interview?”

Victor shrugs. “He’s one of the most interesting things to happen to this city. Why wouldn’t I?”

Yuri scowls harder and closes the van’s passenger door with a loud bang. Victor just rolls his eyes at Yuri’s antics, wondering what that was about anyway.

He drives back to the parking lot at the newscast building to leave the van. He leaves the key with the old security guard at the entrance and heads back to his car, whistling mostly to cover the eerie silence.

“Stop looking for me,” a deep voice says behind him.

Victor whirls back, dropping his keys into the ground. He finds a figure clad in black, looking at him with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Victor blinks a few times before smiling. “I knew you’d come.”

There’s a stunned silence. “You knew I—you mean that thing with your friends wasn’t mean to lure me in?”

Victor smiles, trying to commit the voice of the superhero to memory. “Well, it did lure you in,” he points out, cocking his head. “I never thought you’d believe that it was a real robbery. That’s why I brought the van, to make it easier for you to spot me. Nothing says shady like a white van with no windows.” 

The superhero tilts his head and stares at Victor for a few moments. Finally, he lets out a small chuckle that goes straight to Victor’s gut. “They warned me about you.”

“They warned me about you too,” Victor says, taking a step forward. “Seems like we’re not that good at following instructions.”

The superhero takes a step backward, keeping himself under the shadows. It’s funny because there’s no way Victor would even be able to see his face, not with the mask that covers it. "Most people keep a distance from me. Why don't you?" He asks and sounds genuinely curious. 

“I usually don’t run away from danger,” Victor says. It should be unnerving knowing that someone is staring at him so intently when he can’t see it, but Victor’s mostly frustrated because he can’t see the expression behind the mask. “But I don’t think you’re dangerous.”

The superhero visibly stiffens in shock. “I’m not,” he admits finally, shifting his weight under Victor’s gaze. “But you shouldn’t be looking for me. Stay away.”

The superhero moves as if he’s about to jump into the air so Victor tries to stop him before he’s even conscious of what he’s doing. “Wait! Can’t you tell me your name, at least?”

The superhero tilts his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

Victor laughs lightly. “I mean, of course, but you must call yourself something—when you’re patrolling the streets and saving people.”

There’s a small silence and the superhero looks to his right. “Yes, by my own name,” he says and Victor can even hear the smile on his face.

Victor huffs in exasperation. “Well then, I guess it’s up to me to give you a name!” He puts a finger over his lips, looking at the superhero suit.

“A name? Isn’t that a little… I don’t want it to have more attention on myself,” he notices that the superhero had made an aborted gesture as if trying to cover himself from Victor’s stare.

Victor bites his lower lip to keep himself from grinning. “You already have enough attention as it is. It’s only going to get worse. They need something friendly to call you by… what do you think about Eros?”

“_What_?!” The superhero shouts.

“For your name. Eros, Metropolis’ very own superhero.”

The superhero holds both of his hands up, crossing them over each other wildly. “No, no, no! Don’t call me that!”

“But it’s a good name! It fits you, if you ask me,” Victor says, smirking.

The superhero lowers his head slightly and Victor idly thoughts that maybe he’s blushing under his mask. “What happened to friendly? I don’t think parents will be okay with children calling me Eros.”

Victor sighs. _Okay_, maybe he’s right. “_Fine_. What do you want me to call you then?”

The superhero shrugs and he jumps in the air, going up in zigzag as if he’s jumping into some invisible steps until he reaches the nearest street lamp. “You really shouldn’t be getting involved in this.”

“I’m not quitting. You need someone on your side and I’m determined to be that someone,” Victor says, surprised by his own determination. “_So_ are you letting me give you a name?”

The superhero shakes his head. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried,” he says, sounding more exasperated than mad.

Victor huffs in reply but doesn't try to deny it. "I'm honored you trust me that much,” Victor says, tone dripping with irony.

The superhero is quiet for a few moments where he stares. Victor puts his hands inside his coat, trying not to fidget under his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He replies. The street lamp’s light goes off, blinding Victor for a few seconds.

When it lights up again, the superhero is gone and the parking lot is empty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never thought he’d be at the end of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks!! I'm glad you all liked it <33 seriously, you made my week. 
> 
> As the summary says, there will be some guns involved and Yuuri getting into some superhero shenanigans. Also, there are some mentions of Victor's past struggle with depression. 
> 
> So here's chapter two aka check out Diem's wonderful art at the end of the chapter!! I'm so thankful for them and their dedication to this project, also their art is so nice kdfjalkl so make sure to show them your appreciation!! ❤︎

**ii.**

{ _come to me in the night hours, I will wait for you_ }

Yuuri snaps his fingers with impatience.

He watches them with intense focus. _C’mon. _He snaps them again. Nothing. The post-it is still pink. 

“What… are you doing?” Guang-Hong asks with big curious eyes. Yuuri startles and hides his hand inside his blue jacket, because _yeah_, that doesn’t look suspicious at all.

“I’m—um, I’m practicing?” Yuuri says, cringing at the questioning lilt at the end of his sentence.

“For what?” Guang-Hong asks with a smile, leaving the big stack of files he was carrying on Yuuri’s desk. “Was it a song? Yuuri, are you in an acapella group?”

Yuuri blinks slowly. “Yeah. It’s… a recent thing.”

Guang-Hong positively beams. He tells him that Leo has been thinking of joining an Acapella group for some time now, so they’ve been searching for one. _They_, because Guang-Hong wants to be supportive.

The thing is Yuuri would pay attention to Guang-Hong any other time because he genuinely cares about their friendship, but his mind is elsewhere and it has everything to do with the blog on his computer.

**MYSTERIOUS HERO, AGAPE, STOPS A TRAFFIC ACCIDENT**

Such hero he is, he can’t even change the color of his post-its when it seems like such a basic thing.

Yuuri glares the headline as if it had personally offended him. He thought Victor would stop when Yakov had shut that down weeks ago but it only spurred more entries. He feels a hand clap over his shoulder, Yuuri tenses and relaxes in less than a second when he realizes who’s behind him.

“I’m sure Yuuri will be happy to give you the contact for joining his group, _right_?” Phichit says in a teasing tone, but Yuuri is more than relieved when he realizes that it’s an answer to Guang-Hong’s question. He tenses again when he realizes there’s no _acapella_ group… “I need him, though, for an urgent matter,” Phichit adds to ease Yuuri’s distress.

“In social media?” Guang-Hong asks, confused.

“Yes! PR crises should be taken very seriously. A newspaper is nothing without a reputation,” Phichit says with a serious face. Guang-Hong’s eyes widen and he nods, apologizing.

Phichit drags him away and Guang-Hong waves him goodbye. He almost feels bad for lying to him.

“What was that about?” Yuuri asks once they reach the staircases.

“I feel like I should be asking that to you,” Phichit says, climbing upstairs. “We had an _important_ date. How could you forget?” He bemoans, dramatically.

Yuuri sighs, turning on his phone. It displays _3:40 p.m. _in big bold letters. He was supposed to meet Phichit at top of the building ten minutes ago. “We should stop doing this,” Yuuri says but still follows Phichit. “We’re going to get caught.”

“Well, if someone hadn’t burned my apartment down—” Phichit starts but Yuuri interrupts him, spluttering, feeling a blush creep. “It wasn’t your apartment, it was a _chair_!”

He still sorry about that, but Phichit won't stop bringing it up and it was _his_ idea. Phichit snickers as he opens the door leading to the roof.

"I don't understand why you insist on this training thing," Yuuri says, staring at his hands. He can't believe he thought Phichit wouldn't accept him, he should've known that he would love the idea of Yuuri's powers and would want to test them out. "I've had these powers for years, you _know_?”

“And you still burned my chair,” Phichit counters, crossing his arms with a pointed eyebrow. “Since you refuse to tell Minako about your powers and someone has to help you train or you won’t do it yourself.”

Yuuri frowns. “Again, why do I need training?” He asks, stubbornly. Deep down, he knows the answer. Not so deep down, he remembers the light-made handcuffs he put on some thief last week that broke and said thief almost knocked Yuuri’s wind out of him.

“Because you insist on going out every night to play superhero,” Phichit says not-unkindly but his face is serious as ever. “Your powers can only take you so far and you need to learn how to _use_ them.”

Yuuri swallows. He never meant to put such a burden on Phichit’s shoulders when he told him. Maybe… maybe he shouldn’t keep doing the whole Aga—_superhero_ thing anymore. “I’ll—” He’s about to offer to stop, he really is, but the words don’t come out somehow. He remembers the relief that washed over that woman’s face when he stopped that thief. He remembers the crying mother that couldn’t find the words to thank him for saving her daughter from that car crash.

He remembers Victor's face right before the crash when he thought he was going to die.

He remembers them all.

“You’re right. Sorry for being so… stubborn,” he offers instead.

Phichit’s face brightens at that and he pulls Yuuri into a one-armed hug. “None of that. You wouldn’t be Yuuri if you weren’t.” Yuuri scoffs at that.

Historically, they had been able to sneak out for thirty minutes tops before anyone has needed them downstairs. They never had people come looking for them, though. So, naturally, today when Phichit is convinced Yuuri can learn to heal wounds with his powers…

(“That’s what the wiki for light powers says! Wouldn’t it be super _cool_… and useful?”) 

… and Yuuri is trying and failing to heal the paper cut on his hand, which to _anyone_ else, would look like they’re holding hands in front of the _sunset_. That’s the day where Victor Nikiforov decides to climb three floors to find him.

They’re frozen on the spot. All three men stare at each other with wide eyes.

“I—didn’t mean to interrupt,” Victor says and the tips of his ears are turning red. He avoids Yuuri’s gaze.

Yuuri wants to clarify that it’s not what it looks like _but_ he shouldn’t care, right? Also, he’s still holding Phichit’s hand in his. Still, his neck prickles uncomfortably when Victor’s eyes flicker to their joined hands before he puts a smile on his face.

“Yuuri, when you’re _free_, can you go to my cubicle? I need your advice on a story.”

Yuuri nods, keeping his lips pressed together. Victor nods once before walking away without another word or glance in Yuuri’s direction.

He has a distinct feeling that he may have screwed something up, but he's not sure what exactly.

(_“Hmm, you’re an excellent writer, Yuuri,” Victor says and Yuuri is acutely aware that his right hand is resting next to his, almost absentmindedly, but Yuuri's not quite sure it's as casual as he. He shakes his head to himself. No, of course _not_. Victor would never— "How come no one has snagged you away yet?" Victor asks with a playful glint in his eyes over the rim of the paper in his left hand. "I guess we're lucky to have you first."_)

“Yuuri?” Phichit asks, worried, and it pulls Yuuri out of his own head.

He holds his hand up in amazement.

The cut is gone.

* * *

Yuuri breathes in. Once, twice. He doesn’t know how Victor—feels about what he saw.

A bad feeling gnaws at him for some reason. He tells himself he doesn’t have to explain anything because it’s not as if Victor and he had been flirting. Victor would never look at him that way.

(_“What does Victor Nikiforov need you for, exactly?" Phichit had asked on their way down. _

_“I—um, might be helping him with… his blog?” He had confessed because there was no point in hiding it anymore. _

_There had been a moment of stunned silence before Phichit burst out laughing. “Oh my god, _Yuuri_! You’re helping him to investigate on Agape! You!” _

_The irony hadn’t been lost on him. Yuuri had groaned as Phichit took a few gasping breaths. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just—Yuuri, you _hate_ attention and he’s bringing it to you and you’re _letting_ him.” _

_Yuuri shrugs, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “I’ve always wanted to work with him.” _

_Phichit hums, unconvinced. “Is that all there is?”_)

Is that really all there is?

He turns around the corner. Victor’s, thankfully, engrossed in his work so he doesn’t see Yuuri approaching him. This gives Yuuri about ten seconds of looking at Victor without feeling the need to pretend he wasn’t. He observes the sharp lines of his jaw, the way it tenses, the intense focus of his blue eyes and the way his fringe falls on his face in the right way.

“Hello Yuuri, lovely to see you here,” Chris says in an innocent tone. He hadn’t seen him there even when Yuuri _knows_ he should’ve been there.

Yuuri smiles at him, trying to look normal even though he startled when he heard his voice. “Chris! H-hi, I didn’t see you there,” he says, giving Victor a glance. “How’s your article coming along?”

Chris gives him a knowing smirk but plays along anyway. He’s writing a piece about next year’s Met Gala theme and Yuuri honestly can’t give him an opinion about it because, maybe he knows some of those designers, but he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart from each other.

Chris chuckles and stands up from his cubicle. “I’m taking a small break anyways. So you two can pretend you work for this newspaper.”

Victor rolls his eyes but Yuuri cringes, remembering that he's close to the one-hour mark on his break.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Chris says as he’s leaving.

Yuuri turns to look at Victor, but his expression is unreadable. “Well,” he says, his fringe falling on his face, almost hiding one of his eyes. “I just wanted to show you this. I made some discoveries yesterday.” He nods towards his computer.

Yuuri takes it as an invitation to step closer and look at his screen. He swallows when the smell of Victor's cologne fills his lungs and focuses extra hard on the words on the screen. Yuuri gasps when they sink in.

“I know, right?” Victor says, chuckling deep in his throat, _right_ next to Yuuri. “He’s definitely getting bolder.”

_More stupid,_ Yuuri would argue. “Or more reckless.”

“Either way, _this_ is good publicity. To think he almost went uncredited for this,” Victor muses, leaning back into his chair. “Not on my watch,” he jokes with a big grin.

Yuuri can’t be mad that he was caught leaving a building on fire when Victor is looking so pleased with his discovery. The firefighters had been surprised that nobody had gotten hurt. Yuuri hadn’t done much other than using light barriers (the first thing he learned) and creating hard light platforms for people to pass through when the wood gave in.

He doesn’t think he deserves any credit or wants it, to be honest.

“You think we can get one of the firefighters to make a statement?” Victor asks, still leaning back with his hands laced behind his head.

“You could try, but I don’t think any of them would want to comment on an urban myth with their jobs on the line,” Yuuri offers. “Maybe one of the people that escaped the fire.”

Victor ponders this for a moment and nods solemnly. “See? This is why I _need_ your help.” He says, untangling his hands to write something on the computer and knock his shoulder lightly on Yuuri’s.

Yuuri’s stomach flutters, but something closes off in Victor’s face after that. They talk a while about Agape (and Yuuri wonders why he’s so adamant with the whole Greek love thing, but at least it isn’t _Eros_) and Yuuri refuses _again _to have access to Victor’s blog to write these stories.

All the while, he notices a distinct lack of touching between them.

(No, he doesn’t _miss_ it. It’s just… it was nice while it lasted.)

* * *

Phichit may not know a lot about technology, but he does know many people.

“It was Leo, wasn’t it?” Yuuri asks, looking at the cables inside his mask. After weeks, they finally have a way to communicate that doesn’t require skyrocketing both of their phone bills.

“I think he’s starting to believe I’m Agape,” Phichit says nonchalantly.

“Phichit,” Yuuri sighs, very _very_ tired.

“I know, I _know_! But Leo isn't going to spill anything, okay? And if, only if the police or someone else comes knocking asking for Agape, I'll point them right at you and say you were blackmailing me into helping," Phichit says, waving his hand to dismiss Yuuri’s worries away.

Yuuri shakes his head, not believing a word that Phichit is saying. “You promised.”

“And I’m a man of my word, Yuuri Katsuki. Now, try it on!" Phichit says, far more excited about the whole thing than Yuuri.

He shakes his head but he can't deny that some of Phichit's enthusiasm is contagious. Before telling him, Yuuri had been alone in dealing with his powers, so having someone accept him and not think it was freakish was more than he could ever hope. How could he ever think that Phichit would be scared of him?

Yuuri puts the mask on with a smile and adjusts the speakers so they align with the corners of his mouth. It allows him to change his voice and, for once, it hadn't been Phichit's idea.

“I still don’t understand why you need the speakers. It’s not like you’re going to bump into someone you know,” Phichit says.

Yuuri shrugs, feigning nonchalance far more convincingly than he thought he could. “You can never be too careful,” he murmurs before pulling at his hoodie. “Can you hear me?” He asks, his voice coming off slightly distorted and lower in pitch.

“Loud and clear,” Phichit says into the microphone connected to his headband. _That_ isn’t necessary, Phichit could’ve kept using his normal earbuds, but he said something about keeping the aesthetic.

Yuuri smiles fondly and perches himself up in the window, ready to jump off it. He looks at his hands, letting the power flow through them. He shots a light tendril, almost as if it were a rope and uses a nearby lamppost to gain momentum. He uses his other hand to create a platform where he lands. The rope disappears and he steps into the tall building in front of their apartment as if he had been climbing some stairs instead of jumping ten feet into the air.

He feels the familiar thrum of light beneath his skin, warm and comforting.

Yuuri had spent a whole year ignoring them. He had gotten them in a horrible way and he was sure they had been designed for equally awful things. He had promised himself he wouldn’t use them and kept it a secret from everyone. After disappearing on their family and friends for two weeks, he hadn’t wanted to cause them more pain and he hadn’t been too keen on the possibility of ending locked-up into some government facility. He just knew nothing good would come out of using his powers.

That was until Victor Nikiforov happened.

Yuuri had been so excited that day. It had been his first day at History Maker, one of his biggest dreams finally coming true, and he thought—maybe he could finally meet Victor. On the same playing field. As coworkers. He had admired him since he was a freshman in college and Victor had written that article about the lack of resources and information about mental health in the city of Metropolis.

More specifically, he had detailed the mistreatment of mental health patients in the Metropolis Public Hospital, which had put them in hot water and they had to implement new policies in their wards. Yuuri had been impressed and a bit starstruck. He wished he could work with him someday, to be able to change things too.

Except, he had messed up his first assignment. His anxiety had gotten the best of him and he had accidentally offended one of the Rippon Jewelry’s managers by wording a question badly, which might have come off as implying that one of their people had something to do with the theft of their diamonds.

The manager shut down the interview as quickly as the question left his mouth, so he had to go back to Mr. Feltsman empty-handed. He only looked at him unimpressed, told him to find a journalist who hadn’t messed up in his life, to get out of his office and not step a foot in it until he had fixed his mess. In that order.

He left the building, zipping up his hoodie all the way up and dragging his feet towards Yuko's rink. He knew Victor would be there and Yuko planned to have Yuuri casually dropping by. He had been so happy and felt so invincibly that he had _agreed_ to it. Honestly, Yuuri should better than to make plans when he was having a good day. In the harsh light of reality though, how could Yuuri think he could be in the same playing field that Pulitzer winner Victor Nikiforov?

That's what stopped him in his tracks when he saw Victor on the other side of the street.

He had followed his career for years, hoping to become a reporter worthy of meeting him. He didn’t feel worthy on most days, and especially not that day.

His feet were rooted in the street as he watched him laugh with Yuko.

The tires screeched on the street.

A blond boy was leaning on the car and Yuuri was already running towards him, but what really made it was watching Victor push the boy out of the way knowing that he’d be the one receiving the impact.

Yuuri let his tight control on his powers snap like a rubber band. The air crackled around him and he hadn’t really been thinking at the time. He just _felt_ he had to protect Victor. The dome-like shield he created hadn’t been a conscious thought but it served its purposes.

For a second there, Yuuri felt connected to his powers in a way he hadn’t been able to describe.

The next thing he felt was fear because he was sure Victor had seen him.

He had spent the next weeks panicking because he thought Victor would recognize him if they ever crossed paths again, so he avoided him on purpose. It helped that they worked on different departments.

That is until he found him inside Yakov’s office. He prepared for the blow… and nothing happened. Victor hadn’t even spared him a second glance, which was… a _relief_, Yuuri told himself firmly. He wasn’t going to be disappointed about not getting caught.

A crackle comes from the intercom, startling him away from his thoughts. Phichit had been quiet this whole time. He hears the police radio report about a bank heist in progress at 16th Avenue. The bank was closed but the robbers took some night guards as hostages when they found themselves cornered by the police.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Phichit asks all bravado from before gone. “They have guns.”

Yuuri swallows. He wasn’t joking when he said he was getting more stupid. The police’s voice warns everyone that they heard a gunshot inside. Yuuri jumps from the building, landing on a light platform as he zaps through the sky (he wonders if he could learn to fly…).

“You’re moving, oh my god,” Phichit says in his ear, “please be safe, don’t be a hero for once.”

He doesn’t know how to answer because he knows he never wanted to be one.

* * *

Yuuri remembers playing with Yuko when he was a kid. Sometimes he was the cop, sometimes he was the robber. Minako, newly promoted to Detective, just watched them play with amusement in her eyes. She had been so sure Yuuri had all the makings of a cop, and Yuuri can’t help but wonder if he disappointed her by becoming a journalist instead of going into the Police Academy.

He hears her voice outside the bank, asking the robbers to release their hostages as an act of good faith.

There are, at least, four men with guns and another one with a knife.

He could take one down with a ray of light, but it’d alert the others and also… he doesn’t know if his rays are lethal. Yuuri looks at his hands. He had never tested his powers that far because he never thought he’d be in this situation.

He closes his hands into fists. _No_, it doesn’t have to go that far.

“Do you have a plan?” Phichit asks.

“No,” he answers, keeping his voice low and even. He looks at the lights in the ceiling. Maybe if he turns them off—he makes one of the lights flicker and one of the men turns to look at the ceiling.

“You could try to fry the security system? It’ll open the bank doors,” Phichit suggests.

"I can't. Electricity and light aren't the same things," he corrects, feeling sweat pool at the base of his neck. If that's their best plan, he's screwed.

“I’ve seen you flicker lights on and off,” Phichit protest, trying to hide his panic which would work if Yuuri had met him yesterday.

“It’s not—” his voice raises slightly with hysteria and he snaps his mouth shut. He tries again. “I cloak them by absorbing the light, not by turning them off.”

Phichit groans and there’s a small thud from the other side, as if Phichit had dropped his head into his desk. “What about fire? You could set it on fire and hope for the best?” 

Yuuri hesitates for a second before dropping from the ventilation system where he had been hiding. He falls into a light platform without making any sound, grateful for all the dance classes he took when he was a kid.

“Where would that be?” He asks. It’s their worst plan by far, but it’s not like they much of a choice.

"Just find a blinking red light, it'll give you access to the whole security system," Phichit says.

Yuuri surveys the dark room (wonders if he can develop night vision) and finds a red light on the door to his left. He inhales deeply and lets the energy flow from him. He closes his eyes trying to find an opening for his energy but finds none.

(He tries to set it on fire like that time with Phichit’s chair. He’s not even sure he can… he doesn’t even know how _light_ works. He barely passed Physics in high school.)

“Not working,” Yuuri says, urgently.

He hears voices coming from the room where the hostages are being held. He feels desperation burning beneath his skin, making the hairs of his neck stand up. He can’t let them down, he can’t let these people get hurt.

Yuuri slinks into the dark, stopping near the entrance of the bank vault. He can see three security guards and two employees gagged and with their hands tied to their backs. 

The way he sees this, his only option is to knock the gunmen out. "The police are on their way, Yuuri. It's not too late to leave it to them," Phichit suggests, clearly knowing what Yuuri prolonged silence means. He sees one of the employees crying and it breaks his heart.

His mind is made before he even registers it.

Yuuri lifts his hands and cloaks all the lights in the room outside the vault. All of the robbers leave the vault with the hostages inside, so Yuuri sends a wall of hard light hoping it’ll be enough to seal the door.

The wall glows brightly in the room, alerting the gunmen that he’s there.

One of them says his name—the name Victor gave to him. The other one says he’s an urban myth and Yuuri’s lip twitch, even if he’s more or less sweating inside his spandex suit. He wishes he had gone with his initial idea of wearing sweats to stop crime instead of believing Phichit when he said that he needed a suit.

He tries to stay hidden, but it doesn’t take long for the men to find him near the corner of the ceiling. Yuuri dissolves his light platform before the first gunshot is fired, he hears it ricochet against the ventilation system where his body had been just a few seconds ago. He swallows heavily, feeling his heart thumping on his ribcage.

_Fuck, fuck. _He’s screwed.

“Yuuri, _Yuuri_, are those—” another gunshot and Phichit squeaks in his ear, well, he thinks it’s a squeak. The gunshots are leaving him deaf. He tries to make a run for it and it takes a bullet grazing his bicep for him to remember he can _literally_ create a shield with his hands.

He does and a bullet ricochets against it. There's a pained moan outside his shield and he guesses the bullet wounded one of the robbers. Another set of bullets tries to make it past his shield but it resists the impact.

The bullets stop after a few seconds but he's not one to get too comfortable. It isn't until he hears the police raid the building that he lets his shield down, helping them catch the robbers. He uses a rope of light to tie the hands of two of them. With a curious tilt of his head, he cuts it, hoping it'll remain even if it's not attached to him.

He smiles when it does, making them drop their guns, unable to move their hands even an inch.

Yuuri breathes in once, twice, and laughs in relief. He made it out alive after all.

There’s a pained cry from behind him and Yuuri’s blood runs cold. He sees the man with the knife, his face going pale because he had forgotten about him. A detective is holding his side and another one tackles the man to the ground, kicking him when he's down before putting the handcuffs around his wrists. 

Yuuri recognizes Otabek as the man holding his side. He gulps. Michele is helping him stand upright and Sara is handcuffing the man.

He takes a step forward, compelling to help them because he knows these people. They’re almost _like_, like an extended family to him. He _just_ learned how to heal with his powers, he could—

“Hands where I can see them!” A familiar voice demands from behind.

Yuuri blinks, his instincts warring against logic inside him. That voice means ‘safe’ in his brain but the gun pointed at him means ‘danger’. He fights the lump on his throat.

"Yuuri," Phichit says, sounding a little sad, "remember she doesn't know. You have to get out of there."

Yuuri sighs quietly, holding both of his hands up.

He could make a run for the ventilation system again but he’s sure Minako would actually shot him if he tried it. He also knows her aim is impeccable.

Celestino approaches him with handcuffs. Yuuri looks at the window to his right. Now that the security system has been shut down, the heavy metal doors have been lifted, leaving the street on plain sight. He can see the people outside. It’s full of reporters, waiting for the big news.

The ambulance sirens are painting the room red and blue from outside.

He never wanted to be a hero. He just wanted a peaceful life, bringing justice with a pen, not with—whatever these powers are.

He never thought he’d be at the end of a gun, especially, one pointed at him by Minako.

Well, _shit_.

He snaps his fingers to undo the hard light barrier in the vault. In less than a second after that, he jumps and blasts a beam of light towards the wall, propelling himself outside with enough force to break the glass. He barely remembers to put a protective shield before he goes through the window.

He hears someone shot him.

* * *

Victor rushes downtown as soon as he heard that Agape had really done it this time. There were reports of people seeing flashes of blue light inside the bank where a robbery was taking place. He knew it had to be him.

He tried to call Yuuri but his phone went to voicemail every time. He convinces himself to not be disappointed by that. With what he saw days earlier, he had a life outside work—he wasn't like Victor, always chasing after the next lead. He had someone to come home to, of course, he had. Smart, witty and attractive men like him just _weren't_ single.

Maybe it was better that way. They could focus on working together instead… he shook his head. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Victor arrives just as the police go inside the bank with their bulletproof vests on.

“What are you doing here?” Mila asks and flicks his ear. “I’m covering this one. Get out.” She says, making it sound like a joke but Victor knows that she’s dead serious.

“You’re covering a bank robbery,” Victor says and points at the intermittent bursts of blue light coming from the windows of the building. “I’m covering _that_.”

Mila twists her mouth, clearly not happy with the turns of events. “Do you think Yakov will let you run the story?”

Somewhere on his right, Isabella Yang is narrating the robbery for the local news channel, and while he’s not paying that much attention, he’s sure he hears the words ‘mysterious blue light’. People are recording the whole thing (he makes a mental note to look for these people later). If his reporting instincts are right, he knows something it's about to change.

This could be the night when the world finally acknowledges Agape. 

Victor shrugs and takes a few pictures with his phone, thankful for the high definition even in the dark, there’s a clear burst of blue light. “I think there’s no way we can brush this off. Not after tonight.”

Mila hums in agreement. “It’s pretty crazy, isn’t it? Looks like something out of a comic.”

Victor cocks his head, looking at her with an exasperated expression. “That’s what _I_ have been saying.”

Mila shrugs. “Sorry for not believing someone shoots blue light from his hands. I don’t know what kind of technology does that, but it’s pretty cool that he’s using it to save people.”

Victor frowns. What Mila is saying makes sense, it must be some kind of technology—and, weirdly, Victor didn't consider that option, not even once.

That’s when he finds Captain Okukawa watching him with narrowed eyes, and Victor gives her his brightest smile with a friendly nod of his head as if they were old friends, just because he knows she won’t like it. Captain Okukawa ignores him and Lieutenant Cialdini just shakes his head in reply.

Mila whistles. “Look at it this way, at least you’ll never piss off the press.”

“You’re forgetting that Yakov put me on fills," Victor says. 

Mila makes a gesture with her hand, dismissing it. “Yakov is not pissed. He’s just worried that you’ll go pissing off someone else and there’s only so many death threats a person can get,” she says, flippantly, but Victor can see the way her brows knit together with worry. "And the police are not even on your side, I'd worry if I were editor-in-chief."

Victor opens his mouth to say something but Okukawa and Cialdini seem to hear something on the radio and run inside the building like their butts are on fire. That’s… interesting. Victor looks at Mila and she looks back with trepidation on her face, he figures he’s wearing an identical expression. The flashes of blue lights have stopped and the only noise is the incessant chatter from the local news reporters and the crowd pilling behind the police tape.

Mere minutes after, a flash of blue light goes through the window with enough force to break all of the other windows on the first floor. The blue cocoon lands on the hood of one of the police cars and when it stops glowing, it reveals a figure clad in a skin-tight black suit, not unlike the one he had seen just a few weeks ago.

There’s an eerie silence with everyone just waiting for Agape’s next move.

The man lets out a pained ‘oof' instead and reaches for his head as if starving off a headache, which Victor would guess is one of the side effects of going through a glass window.

(What the hell was he thinking?)

And then everything happens at once.

Yang is speaking a hundred-words-per-minute with her camera operator panning the view into the man. The people standing behind the police tape begin to get rowdy, whether trying to get a better look or trying to make sense of what they’re seeing. The cops coming out of the building point their guns at the man with Okukawa holding up a megaphone.

“This is Captain Okukawa speaking. Drop your weapons and surrender.”

Victor frowns in confusion. Weapons? Surrender? Are they—are they going to _arrest_ him? Victor goes to the limit of the police tape to get a better view, ready to advocate for this—this _superhero _if he has to. Agape looks at him, doing a double-take. His eyes—even if he can't see them—stare back at him and Victor stood rooted to the spot.

Okukawa speaks again and Agape’s head snaps back to her. Before they all know, there’s a flash of blinding light, and Agape disappears without another trace.

* * *

“You missed all the fun last night,” Victor says as he finds Yuuri and brings him a cup of cinnamon chai tea. He's still trying to find his favorite drink, even if Yuuri insists he'd ‘like anything he brings him'. Why does he have to say things like that? It gives him _hope_ and he can’t have _hope_ about a man in a relationship.

Nonetheless, Victor is nothing but persistent <strike>stubborn</strike> so he will still find Yuuri’s favorite drink.

The corners of Yuuri’s mouth turn up in a secret smile and Victor raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe you had some other kind of fun last night, _Yuu_ri,” he says, trying to sound casual and good-natured. They can joke like that, can they? They’re friends. Chris jokes about his sex life all the time.

Of course, Victor had never wanted to _actually_ kiss Chris. Not even that time he kissed him (it was a dare, okay? And he was drunk.) 

He’s almost sure he doesn’t sound as bitchy as he thinks he does. Maybe Yuuri had allowed those casual touches and the flirting, but now that he really thinks about it, Yuuri hadn’t probably even realized Victor had been flirting.

That’s just a whole new kind of depressing.

Yuuri gives him a deer-in-the-highlights look. He looks almost horrified and Victor is about to backtrack because he clearly overstepped badly.

“I mean,” he starts awkwardly, “I—it’s a bad joke, sorry. That’s none of my business!”

Yuuri’s expression turns from horrified to confused to a blush along with some spluttering. “I’m—no, that wasn’t what—the only fun I had was sleeping in my bed! Alone!”

Victor's lip twitches in amusement despite his mortification. He puts the cup of tea over Yuuri’s desk, trying to push the image that wording conjures. Yuuri splutters some more. “Not like _that_! You’re the worst,” Yuuri says and looks surprised at his words for a second. He holds Victor’s gaze for a few seconds and Victor gives him a warm smile.

Being called ‘the worst’ had never given him a warm feeling in his chest before, but Yuuri never ceased to surprise him. Yuuri, who could barely look at him in the eye a few weeks ago, is now comfortable enough to call him out on his bullshit.

He sips at his black coffee. Yes, it seems Yuuri Katsuki will be the death of him, won’t he?

“Well, while you were elsewhere, the world finally acknowledged the existence of our friendly neighbor _Agape_,” Victor says with a bright smile, showing him today’s paper.

Yuuri sighs, picking it up and scanning the page with wary eyes. Victor would feel bad by gloating about this because he knows Yuuri never wanted Agape to get this kind of publicity, but he just can’t, he’s far too happy that people don’t hate Agape (aside from the police department, but the MPD hates everyone anyways, e.g. Victor himself).

Also…

Yuuri’s eyes widen in realization and Victor’s grin turns into a full beam.

“Victor! Your name! You got the first page!” Yuuri says with a beautiful smile. Victor’s heart squeezes in his chest. “I’m so glad for you,” Yuuri says, softly. “Does this mean that Yakov took you out from fills?”

Victor smiles. “He’ll let me take all Agape stories but that’s all,” he explains, but he’s not too bothered by that. Yuuri nods without dropping his smile. He breaks eye contact to look at the paper again with something like wonder. Victor looks at Yuuri, swallowing heavily. He knows he should stop himself before he falls in too deep and finds himself with a full-on unrequited crush. He doesn’t _do_ unrequited anymore since his early twenties—too much energy spent hoping for something that’ll never happen and all that.

Yet, his heart flutters with hope when Yuuri looks at him with that soft expression on his face.

"We should celebrate," he suggests nonchalantly. "You know, I would've never gotten this far without your support."

Yuuri shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” Victor says, stubbornly. “You believed me.”

Instead of the shy smile, he was expecting, Yuuri’s face shuts off and his gaze flickers back to the page where a big picture of Agape is on display. “Of course I believed you,” Yuuri whispers, matter-of-factly. He lifts his gaze again and opens his mouth.

One beat passes. “Where do you wanna go?” Yuuri asks, his shoulders slumping down to his chair.

Victor blinks, confused. A question so normal wouldn’t require so much hesitation. “Is that what you were going to ask?” He prods gently.

Yuuri frowns, a perfect picture of confusion. “Yeah. Why would you think it was something else?”

Victor opens his mouth to protest but closes it, shaking his head a little. “Of course, sorry. Nevermind. We should—lunch, you know, that Chinese place with the dumplings.”

"Almost all Chinese places have dumplings," Yuuri says with an amused glint in his eye.

Victor narrows his eyes. “_Yuuri_,” he whines, “you know which one.” He gives him a look through his fringe. “See you at lunch. I have _articles_ to write,” he says, proudly. 

He stands up to go but he catches Yuuri’s private smile on the corner of his eyes. Unlike the other one, this one is soft around the edges.

He’s so screwed.

* * *

“And then I say: ‘Yakov, if we don’t run this story, I quit’ and he said: ‘You’re giving more reasons to not put it on the news’.” Yuuri tries not to laugh at that, but he sees his shoulders shake with the effort. The amused glint on his eyes is something that Victor will never get tired of seeing. “He ran it in the end and didn’t fire me, so I consider it a win,” Victor says with a smile as he dips his dumpling on the sauce.

Yuuri shakes his head, almost fondly. “He’s always threatening to fire you… I thought he was your family.”

“He is. He’s been there all my life, he’d have been my godfather if—” Victor stops and clears his throat. He doesn’t want to get in these muddy waters just yet. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s like family, but he’s my mentor so he can’t go easy on me, nor I would want him to.”

Yuuri looks at him curiously, but nods. “Yeah, I understand. I have—people who have watched me grow up too.”

Victor smiles, pleased to hear more about Yuuri’s past. He puts his hand under his chin. "Yeah? So I haven't met all of your family?" Victor asks although that had been more by accident. He walked into Yuuri’s cubicle one morning to find him talking in Japanese with his back to the entrance, so Victor saw his family before Yuuri saw him.

Yuuri’s mom seemed to like him almost instantaneously and asks Yuuri about him regularly.

Which doesn’t help with his whole ‘we’re not going to pine and hope’ plan. 

“They’re…. like family, yeah. You—you, sort of, know them," Yuuri says, his eyes fighting to stay on Victor's face. Victor frowns. Yuuri opens his mouth again but the words seem to die on his throat as he watches a point behind Victor's shoulder. The bell on the door rings announcing that new customers are entering the restaurant.

Victor turns around.

He groans when he sees half of the police department entering the building. Victor rolls his eyes when he sees Sara Crispino glare at him, he turns around to Yuuri, enjoying this view far more than…

Yuuri’s looking at him with worry in his eyes.

“Katsuki, I didn’t know you hanged around sham journalists,” Michele Crispino says from behind him. 

_Oh no_.

* * *

The walk back to History Maker is a silent one.

The spring on his step is gone too and he feels more tired than he has any right to feel.

(_“Back off Michele,” Yuuri had said, forcefully. Victor’s stomach did a flip because he hadn’t heard this side of Yuuri before, also he was _defending_ him._)

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, quietly. “I know I should’ve told you.”

Victor closes his eyes. He’d rather pretend that Yuuri didn’t know his sour history with the police department and that’s why he hadn’t told him. “Why do you think that?” Victor asks. “You don’t have the obligation to tell me anything.”

He really didn’t owe him an explanation, but somewhere in the back of his head, the niggling thought that maybe Yuuri thought he was a ‘sham journalist’ too is bothersome.

(_“Yuuri?” Crispino One had asked with wounded eyes. Yuuri had dropped his defensive stare to look at her with… an apologetic expression_.)

Of course. Of course, he had to fall—_befriend_ the one person that the whole police department liked. ‘_They’re like family_’. He remembers now how Yuuri mentioned Minako once, but he never thought he meant _Minako Okukawa_. He’s such a fucking fool.

For a delirious moment, he thinks that it is a good thing that Yuuri is taken _and_ not interested in him because, boy, that would open his world to a whole other lot of complications.

“I just don’t want you to think that—I’m not in favor of Agape because of the MPD or something,” Yuuri explains and that stops Victor in his tracks.

He hadn’t thought about that, but now the idea is there. “Is that not the reason?” Victor asks, curiously. It’d make everything sense. He always thought that someone like Yuuri, someone who was interested in justice and doing what was right, would be rooting for Agape.

“No, of course not,” Yuuri rushes out. “They might be my friends and… well, Minako is family, but that doesn’t mean I agree with them on _everything_.”

Victor laughs bitterly when he realizes what Yuuri’s getting at. “You mean you don’t think I’m a crook? Or what was that Cialdini called me? _Ah_, ‘a thirsty journalist who wouldn’t stop at nothing to win a Pulitzer, including ruining people’s lives’.”

The thing is, it is true that Michele Crispino had been falsely accused. Crispino hadn’t been involved in his father’s shady business. He hadn’t known anything about the missing people or the serum his father had been developing illegally. His name had gotten mixed up because he had been there investigating about some man’s disappearance (and the guy had turned up drunk in the next State or something. The details were a little fuzzy).

It is also true that his name was the _only_ one to turn up clear. 

Victor may have done many things that weren’t exactly top ethical behavior back when he broke the news about his father’s twisted experiments, but fabricating stories wasn’t one of them.

“Of course not, you think I would help you if I thought you were a liar,” Yuuri says, taking a step forward. The street was relatively quiet, the only noise coming from the traffic a few blocks down.

“Then why are you helping me? Why are you siding with me?” Victor asks.

Yuuri holds his gaze with a determination and Victor’s heart tried to crawl up his throat by the force of it. “Because I believe _you_.”

Victor stops breathing.

“I’ve followed your career for years,” he confesses, a bit shyer, but just as determined. “I think I would know by now if you skewed your facts to make a story bigger than what it is. I know you always stay impartial.”

Victor swallows against the lump in his throat. Guilt washes over him like cold water.

“It’s not worth going against your friends and family,” Victor says, avoiding his gaze. He knows he’s not. Not when—he knew Yuuri admired him but he didn’t know how much. He doesn’t want to disappoint him.

He hears Yuuri sigh. “You know how you went against Yakov by chasing Agape because you knew it was the right thing?” Yuuri asks but continues without waiting for an answer. “Well.”

Victor looks at him again. “So you’re chasing me?” He asks against his better judgment.

Yuuri blushes but doesn’t try to avoid his gaze. “I’m—standing by your side. I trust you and—well, we're… you know, you've helped me so much with—these past weeks. I've learned so much with your help.”

Victor’s heart skips a beat (again) and he sighs, somehow Yuuri always knows what to say to disarm him, doesn’t he? “Is that what you want me to be? A mentor?”

Yuuri makes a noncommittal noise, looking at his feet.

“A brother? A friend?” He asks, trying to keep his hopes down but… “Your boyfriend then, I guess I can do my best.”

He says it jokingly (of course, although, not so much). Yuuri startles and splutters a “No, no, no, no!” anyway. Victor’s stomach drops to the ground, cursing his mouth for his lack of filter.

“I don’t want you to be anything but yourself,” Yuuri adds, hastily.

Victor nods slowly, speechless for once. He doesn’t know how to interpret that… but maybe there’s nothing to interpret. Maybe… maybe he can take Yuuri’s words at face value.

He wants whatever Victor is willing to give him.

“I… I can do that,” he says with a small smile. “I won’t let you off easy though,” he says, jokingly and extends his hand.

Yuuri looks at it doubtfully but shakes it anyway. If they linger for a second longer than necessary, none of them acknowledges it.

* * *

That night, Victor is standing on the roof of his building, looking at the streets. Some (Yurio) would say he’s brooding, but he’s just… thinking. Reflecting.

He looks at the last text from Yuuri.

**[From Yuuri:]** _hey i need to finish smth before sleeping so ttyt !! sleep well :) _

Victor’s heart still flutters when he sees that last message and he honestly feels bad for feeling this way about a man in a relationship. He’s not a homewrecker and doesn’t plan to be one, but _fuck_, after today? He cannot deny that he’s pining for Yuuri.

Although, maybe it's just hopeful thinking, is he really in a relationship?

He made it a point to mention he had been sleeping alone.

_But that doesn’t mean anything_, he reminds himself, thinking that he had seen Phichit and Yuuri holding hands in the sunset on a rooftop. That was the perfect romantic setup, how can he read it as anything other than that? They live together. Yuuri mentions him just as much as he mentions his family. He’s the fool who failed to recognize it for what it is.

He drinks a bit of his whiskey, feeling it burn with satisfaction. He's going to allow himself one night wallow in self-pity because he really thought it was going somewhere. He thought he had met someone who wasn't just hot but also cared about him, who believed in him, who was funny, kind, smart, and all that shit he had waxed poetic about when Chris told him he was going to die alone if he kept waiting for a Prince Charming to come along instead of going on dates like normal people.

One night. Then tomorrow he's going to do the mature thing and accept that his friend is taken and move the fuck on. He’s not going to be that friend who hopes his friend breaks up with his boyfriend just so he can get a shot, Yuuri deserves better than that.

Yuuri already trusts him so much. He's not going to betray that trust—

“Are you sure that’s safe?” A voice asks from next to him. He jumps two feet into the air and drops his glass of whiskey into the street. It hits the ground with a loud crack, the glass splintering into the ground dangerously. 

He thanks heavens there was no one walking down the street.

“It is if you don’t scare me like that!” Victor says, turning his gaze to Agape, who’s perched over the ledge as if that wasn’t more dangerous than Victor leaning on it was.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Agape says, sounding far from sorry.

Victor mourns his whiskey for a second. It was the good stuff. He surveys Agape more carefully this time, wondering why he decided to show up tonight of all nights.

“Are you here to warn me about writing about you?” Victor asks in a knowing tone. Yeah, just what he needed.

“I could but that hasn’t worked in the past,” Agape says, amusement in his voice. Victor tilts his head curiously. “I was just passing by—I read your article. I have to admit I missed your writing, Mr. Nikiforov.”

Victor’s lips twitch in amusement. “Mr. Nikiforov is my father and if you know me at all, you know how I feel about him.” He shakes his head. “Call me Victor,” he says, his voice far more flirtatious than it needs to. It’s a reckless, reckless thing to flirt with Agape, but the alcohol is buzzing in his head and the mild heartbreak from before is pushing him to do stupid things.

“Okay, _Victor_,” Agape says his name almost playfully.

Victor swallows. “What should I call you then?” He asks, leaning into the stone ledge. Despite Agape’s complaints, the ledge reaches his elbows. He couldn’t be safer if he tried.

“They call me Agape these days. Some reporter took it upon himself to name me,” Agape says and it’s definitely playful. Victor’s blood sings into his veins at realizing that Agape is flirting back.

Victor chuckles, a drawn-out sound that he knows sounds attractive because he practiced it. “Yes I guess I could call you Agape, but you must have a name.”

Agape shakes his head. “Has someone told you you’re relentless?”

“Only a few hundred people,” Victor says, waving his hand dismissively. Agape chuckles but doesn’t offer anything more. “Fine. _Agape _it is then.”

Agape looks at him, or at least, his face is directed at him. He can’t see his expressions behind that mask and he wishes he could. Yet again, that’d mean knowing his identity and—well, it’s bizarre to think about it. Agape has been an urban myth for a while and his whole thing is to be mysterious, a faceless hero for the people of Metropolis.

It’s crazy to think that behind that mask there’s a normal man with normal problems and a normal life.

Victor frowns, remembering the conversation with Mila yesterday. “Are you—these powers are yours? Or do you use some kind of technology?”

Agape tilts his head, the only indication that he’s not going to answer that.

"Off-record, okay? I was just wondering if you're a normal guy behind the mask or if you're rich like—Superman? No, wait, is Superman the rich one?"

Agape laughs. “You’re thinking of Batman and no, I’m not rich or anything. These are…” his hands come up and they glow blue for a few seconds before he shuts them off, “all mine.”

Victor hums. “How did you get them?” He asks.

“You asked one question, is only fair I get one,” Agape says, changing from his crouched position to sit on the ledge, which again, it’s more dangerous than what Victor had been doing.

“Fine, ask whatever you want,” Victor says, leaning comfortably, “but I’m single, if you were curious.”

Agape stays silent for a second longer. “Why were you drinking alone on the rooftop?”

Victor’s confident smile falters. He sighs deeply. “You know I could lie and say it was just a midnight drink.”

“But you won’t,” Agape says in a knowing tone.

“I can’t lie to the man who saved my life,” Victor says and, even though it sounds flirty, it’s the truth.

Agape inhales sharply. “You don’t have to tell me just because I saved you—”

Victor stops him. “No, I want to,” he says with a small smile. “It’s easier to talk to a stranger and all that,” he exhales and pushes his fringe back. “It’s nothing serious, actually. I wasn’t—it’s not like that anymore.” Victor amends, because everyone in Metropolis knows about his struggle with depression from that article he wrote years ago. “I’m just—processing some things. To be honest, maybe I’m… a little sad.” Victor feels very young and stupid all of sudden. Sad because of a boy.

Although, it is more than that.

“Anyway, I have a friend—I thought maybe he and I were going somewhere but he’s seeing someone. It’s not like I’m _pining_ for him,” Victor says, not quite looking at Agape, “at least, I don’t think I am.”

Agape makes a noise of understanding. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Victor looks at him with a grateful smile. “Really? No ‘Victor, you deserve better’ or ‘get it together, he’s taken’?”

“You already know all that, but I guess—I’ve been there too. Liking someone you don’t have a chance with,” Agape says and it sounds sad.

Victor smiles sadly at him. “I’m sorry to hear that then.”

Agape shrugs, his legs swinging slightly. “It’s okay. He’s so out of my league.”

Victor swallows around his tongue. _He_, huh. He laughs then and regrets instantly when Agape snaps his gaze back to him. “I’m sorry, but if he’s out of _your_ league. We, mere mortals, don’t stand a chance. What is he? A Greek god or something?”

Agape groans, annoyed. "I'm not Agape all the time, you know?"

Victor shakes his head. It's hard to imagine such a concept. "Have you even asked him?" He arches both of his eyebrows at him.

“Have _you_ asked your friend?” Agape challenges and he can easily imagine that he’s copying his gesture.

Victor crosses his arms. “That’s different. He’s in a relationship and it’d be disrespectful.”

Agape shakes his head. “Well, he’s a Greek god, it’d be _disrespectful_,” he says, ironically. “Besides, he’s not even—” Agape’s voice cuts off and his whole body tenses. Victor looks around alarmed, but the streets are quiet and there’s nothing around that could warrant a reaction like that.

The air crackles with something. His skin prickles at the feeling and he notices that Agape’s hands are shining blue.

Agape stands up from the ledge, looking ready to jump and Victor realizes a second too late that he’s never seen Agape fly, how the fuck—

A tendril of light hangs itself from the nearest lamppost and Agape turns to face him, “I have to go,” he says and tenses to jump before stopping “don’t go looking for me tonight. _Not_ tonight.” He says, firm but urgent. The blue light crackles a few times.

Victor can’t do anything but nod. Agape nods, sighing in relief before jumping. 

He watches him disappear into the night, not unlike before. He hears sirens going in the direction where Agape went and thinks of changing into his work clothes.

He thinks of the urgent way that Agape had asked him to stay and a chill goes through his spine. He had forgotten for a second, when they were talking and flirting, that Agape had powers that went beyond anyone’s comprehension.

He remembers how his skin prickled at the burst of energy around him, how wild his powers manifested after he had _just_ been talking to him about an unrequited crush as if he were a normal guy.

Agape wouldn’t hurt him, but he’s sure he’s far more powerful than he lets on, maybe more than he _knows_, but so far, he seemed to have a tight control over his powers. Whatever made him lose control like that has to be _bad_.

Something dangerous is happening tonight and Victor, for once, listens.

* * *

**PUBLIC ENEMIES ‘ANASTASIS’ AND ‘AGAPE’ DESTROY METROPOLIS BANK, 2 MILLION DOLLARS STOLEN IN HEIST**

Metropolis bank reports over one million losses in property damage and two million dollars stolen during last night heist by a masked thief called Anastasis. Vigilante and wanted criminal, Agape, was seen at the scene. Whether he was helping or going against Anastasis is still unclear. If anyone has any information about the whereabouts of Anastasis or Agape, they are urged to contact the Metropolis Police Department. The police sketch can be found at the end of this article.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it and don't forget to show [Diem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllyasJames) some love!!


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